


Lest we forget

by MissSlothy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: A trip to London brings memories - both good and bad - for Danny and Steve.  Danny's POV.
Based on a scene from 7x02 (and I've only seen the spoilers and read some excellent codas so apologies if I've missed something obvious :))





	

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of years ago I thought about writing a H50 story based in London (where I grew up). Then 7x02 came out and although I haven't seen it yet the spoilers got me thinking again....
> 
> Yesterday was Remembrance Sunday in the UK, a day to remember the contribution of the men and women who have sacrificed themselves to protect our freedom. This story is posted with respect to them.
> 
> Probably contains some UK spellings.

As he pushes open the door to the fish and chip shop ('Chippy', he corrects himself, Rachel's voice echoing in his head) the smell of deep fried potato, grease and the sharp tang of salt and vinegar fills the air.  His stomach growls with appreciation.

Behind him Steve pushes the door closed, shutting out the cold air, keeping in the heat.  Condensation's obscured the windows, blocking out the grey London dusk.  There's only a handful of other customers sitting around the mismatched plastic tables that have obviously seen better days.  It's cosy, friendly: it's a million miles away from everything they've been through over the previous weeks. 

Nostalgia overwhelms him, enfolding him like a huge, warm hug.  This place is just how he remembers it.  He allows himself a face-splitting grin.

"I've got this one."

For a second he's not sure what's surprised him more: the fact that his partner has just offered to pay for dinner or that he's pulling actual notes out of his wallet.  They've been on the go for four days straight and not once has Steve been near an ATM.  So where the hell did he get British Pounds from?

From the secret stash he's got in his house, his brain suggests unhelpfully, putting a dent in his good mood.  It's been six years since Steve's been on active service but he still acts like he could be called away at any moment.  

The thought stings more than it should.  

'Happy', he reminds himself with a mental shake.  He told Steve visiting some of his old haunts in London would make him happy.  So he's going to enjoy it, even if his friend is treating this like a military operation.

Staring at the menu behind the counter, Steve's got a deep frown on his face.  It's the same level of concentration that he applies to everything, the all or nothing approach that drives him mad.  But right now, in the spirit of positive thinking, he just shakes his head, earning him an admonishing glare from his partner that tells him he should find them a table.  

That's really not difficult, there's only two left.  With a nod of acknowledgement to the customers sitting on the table beside him he sits down, pulling his coat off and blowing warmth into his hands.  The Jersey part of him is loving the cold London weather but another part (a bigger part of him, he hates to admit) is really missing Hawaii.

Grace would be mocking him right now, he thinks.

She's been texting him all day, making him worry about how much sleep she's got.  Flicking through the messages, his lips quirking upwards at her obvious excitement about his trip, he keeps one eye on his partner.  Steve's at the front of the queue now, his expression still incredibly serious for such a simple task as ordering takeout.  It's like he's only got one setting, Danny thinks, his heart sinking, the texts suddenly forgotten.

He'd wanted this to be fun.  Just for a few hours.  And it's so  _ _fucking__  unfair that Steve's not even going to allow him this.

The thought pops up unbidden, blindsiding him with its intensity.  He's not angry with Steve, he tells himself, he's really not.  He doesn't need his friend to acknowledge the sacrifice he'd made by donating half his liver because it wasn't a sacrifice.  It really wasn't.

But he wants him to enjoy his second chance at life.  And it feels like he's throwing it away.

"You okay?"  Steve gate crashes his thoughts, pushing the forgotten cell phone away to make space for two trays of food.  Blinking, he gives himself a moment, studying what his friend has bought.

Mouth-watering aromas of fish and chips ( _ _chips__ , not fries, Daniel) float up from the plates and he licks his lips, already imagining how good they will taste.  "I'm good," he replies suddenly realising that Steve's still watching him, the frown he's been wearing more often than not since leaving the hospital still marring his face. 

As Steve busies himself, taking a seat and retrieving items from his coat pockets (just how many little wooden forks can one man need?) he pops the first chip in his mouth, spluttering as the heat burns his tongue.  Huffing a few more times to cool his mouth down, he finally starts chewing, letting out an appreciative hum at the perfect mix of a crunchy outside and soft, fluffy centre.

"Good, huh?"  Steve's finally got a grin on his face he notes, his heart flipping a beat at the sight.  Teeth flashing, he's chewing at top speed, another handful of chips already being dipped in--

"What the hell is that?"

For a second his friend looks at him nonplussed before looking down at his chips, now dripping in a brown and green sauce.   "Curry sauce and mushy peas," he explains as if he's not talking in a foreign language.  "Wanna try some?"

"Do I...what...did you just pick things off the menu at random?  What's wrong with ketchup?"

"I've had it before," his friend explains, looking a little hurt.  "I like it."   Protectively he pulls his plate towards him as if he thinks he's going to get his contraband sauce and vegetables confiscated.  

"When?"  

"When what?"  Steve's munching on another chip, looking entirely too casual and he hears warning bells going off.  

"You've been here before haven't you?" he hazards a guess, holding up his hand as Steve opens his mouth to argue.  "Ok, not  _ _here.__ But you've been to London, right?"

"Hmm hmmm," his friend confirms non-committedly around a mouthful of deep fried fish.

"So why didn't you tell me?"  As Steve looks away, refusing to meet his eyes, he feels a flare of anger deep in his gut.  It’s going to be another secret, another thing that's hovering between them, unspoken.  

Just a few hours.  That's all he'd been asking for.

"Fine.  Don't tell me--"

"Danny..." With a sigh Steve reaches over to still his waving hand.  His grip is warm, comforting, and it takes everything he's got to pull away.  "It's not like that...it’s just..."  Glancing away and then back he takes a deep breath and starts again.  "Tell me about this place.  Why did you look so happy when we came in?  It can't just be for the fish and chips.  They're good but they're not  _ _that__  good."

It's a lame joke: he can tell by the look on Steve's face that he knows that.  But he's right.  He had been happy.  And the fact that his friend actually noticed gives him hope.  He's felt constantly weary since he woke up in the hospital to find that he and Steve weren't going to be facing this latest challenge in their lives together.  That his friend had decided to batten down the hatches and try and ride out the storm alone.

Taking a deep breath he looks around the cafe, trying to capture that feeling of happy again.  The place does evoke memories of Rachel, good ones, from a time before real life had intruded and truly fucked everything up.  So he tells his friend about that time, unable to conceal a smile.  And by the time they've finished their plates of food he's not the only one who's got a grin on his face.

It makes him feel like a million dollars.  And he's probably grinning like a lunatic.  But it's the best he's felt for weeks.

Sprawling in his chair, the near-permanent frown finally gone from his face, it's obvious Steve's relaxed too.  It's on the tip of his tongue to ask about his previous trip to London, the secrecy still grating, despite their better mood.  Before he can say anything though Steve leans forward, his expression strangely unsure.  "Do you want to come for a walk?  There's...something I want to show you."

H50H50H50H50

It's already dark when they leave the cafe, their breath visible in the cold autumn air.  It's still busy in the streets as he follows his friend, Steve cutting through the crowds easily with his long legs and the aid of a map on his cell phone.  A short trip on The Tube evokes more memories as familiar station names appear and he finds himself sharing more about his time in London, despite the lack of talking in the carriage (we're __British__ , Danny.  We don't share in public, Rachel reminds him).  Steve doesn't offer much in return but the fond expression he's wearing, morphing into a disbelieving grin at a particular bit of a story is enough to stop him worrying about where they might be going.

Coming back out into the night air is a sharp shock to his system.  They're in an older part of the city, walking through small streets lined with Georgian townhouses.  Silence surrounds them, the cold air surprising still.  Deliberately huffing out warm puffs of air just to see what they'll look like when they hit the cold, he tucks his hands into his pockets and hunkers down into his coat. 

In the distance he can see Westminster Abbey, its medieval architecture lit up by soft orange spotlights. In front of him Steve’s a faceless silhouette, the outline of his body picked out by the glow from the Abbey.  

Crossing the road at a fast trot to avoid the early-evening rush of black cabs, instead of going into the Abbey they turn left.   Steve’s like a dog on a scent, checking his cell phone one final time before stuffing it in his pocket and taking a path to the back of the building.

The path’s led them into a garden he realises a few minutes later, squinting to allow his eyes to adjust to the soft glow being given off by the lights.  And it’s full of little wooden crosses decorated with poppies.

It’s a Garden of Remembrance.

Confused, he tries to remember the tradition behind the flowers, cursing the fact that Rachel’s voice which has been accompanying him around London all evening has suddenly gone quiet.  The lack of knowledge doesn’t seem to have stopped Steve though.  His friend’s kneeling at the edge of the sea of crosses and when he stands again there’s an extra one added to the line, crudely fashioned out of the handles of two wooden chips forks.

“I know what you’re thinking, Danny,” Steve offers quietly, as he nods once at the crosses before turning to face him.  “You’re pissed at me because you’ve been having a good time and now I’ve bought you here.”

That’s not quite true, he realises, trying to get a read on his friend’s expression which is half-obscured by the shadows.  Right at this second he’s more intrigued than annoyed.  That feeling might not last for ever though.

“My last trip to London?  It’s not a secret…it’s just…”  With a huff Steve turns away from him.  It’s obvious he’s annoyed with himself.  “It’s just…Look, I came here on leave from Afghanistan in 2004.  Joint operation, working with the SAS,” he explains, his voice rising along with his level of frustration.  “It was two days, Danny.  That was it.  But we’d just been…we were __alive__.  We were alive and it was—“

“Fun?” 

“Yeah.”  Steve deflates as he utters the single word.  “It was fun.” 

He studies his friend closely for a moment, not sure where to step next in the invisible minefield he’s just been presented with.  “That’s not a bad thing,” he offers finally, reaching out to touch because he __has__ to.  “You know that right?” 

Lips pursed, head bowed, he’s not sure Steve’s heard him.  “I know okay.  I do,” he repeats, finally meeting his eyes.  “I know not all your memories of Rachel are bad ones, that you’re trying to remember the good things as well.  That’s what I keep trying to do, to remember how lucky I am, to focus on the good things but…Their next mission…it wasn’t a success, Danny. So every time I think of the good things there’s __always__ …”

‘This’, he finishes for his friend silently as Steve’s words finally fail him.  Tightening his grip he pulls him closer, turning him away from the crosses and the memories, sliding his arms around him so they’re in an awkward one-sided hug.  Survivor’s guilt is something he’s very familiar with.  But he’s not sure Steve’s ever used those exact words in relation to himself.

He’s very aware of Steve’s warmth under his hands, of the way his friend’s body shifts as he finally gives into his gentle encouragement, reaching up to pull them both into a full hug.  They’re both alive too, he reminds himself.  And that’s something they should celebrate. 

“So are you going show me where these pubs are?” he asks, disentangling himself from his partner and looking up, making sure he’s caught his eye.  “The ones that’ll let you back in.”

Steve blinks back at him owlishly, understanding gradually dawning in his eyes.  “You want me to take you back…but we can’t drink, Danny,” he adds as an afterthought, maddeningly practical as always.

“Mock-tails, you doofus,” he shoots back, pushing Steve in front of him, towards the exit.  They’ve had their moment of introspection.  It’s time to get back out in the world of the living, to not let the sacrifices be in vain. “It’s not quite the same though...” he concedes under his breath, fighting back a sudden craving for beer.  

‘Happy’, he reminds himself, as they reach the main road and Steve stops again, uncertainty written across his face. Digging deep he picks out a memory at random, letting it wash over him, his lips curling up in a smile.  

“Have I told ever told you about the time Rachel and I went skinny dipping in the Serpentine?” he starts, rewarded as Steve’s jaw drops, his eyebrows heading north.  “Okay, maybe not __butt__ naked,” he corrects, slapping his friend on the shoulder to keep him moving.  “But there was some nudity," he insists, the hint of laughter he can see in Steve's eyes encouraging him to continue his story.  "Okay, maybe not nudity, maybe it __was__ just the socks, but that’s nudity, right?  Right?  Anyway that's what the security guy called it.  So Rachel, being English, she says to this guy..."

Good memories, he reminds himself. That's what they are going to get tonight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Remembrance Garden at Westminster Abbey: http://www.westminster-abbey.org/press/news/2016/november/duke-of-edinburgh-and-prince-harry-open-field-of-remembrance


End file.
